Rich kid, Poor kid
by Psylette
Summary: AU: Kyle never wanted the life he was born into, but he wasn’t given a choice in the matter, until he walked out after college, sending his life into a spiral that he can’t decide if it’s up or down, that eventually leads him to the last place he expected
1. A Small Introduction

A Small Introduction

Looking back on my life I'd have to say that it's taken more then a few turns that, as a kid, I would have never expected. I don't think anyone who knew me when I was growing up would have ever believed that my life would end up where it is…. sometimes I find it hard to believe myself. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I should know better then to start a story at the end…. shows how easy it is to forget what you learn when you're simply trying to get it all down. So I'll start at the beginning, and what is the beginning…the beginning is simply stating who I am. My name is Kyle Dester.

I know I can't leave it there. When I was growing up simply giving my name was enough to have everyone in the room get all simpery over me. But not any more, I spend my time with different people now, people who have never heard of my father. My father was one of the elite businessmen of New York, and I mean so high up that the only people who knew his name were the ones that were almost as high up as he was. I grew up being treated like a prince, knowing that I'd never have to want for anything in my life. Heh, right, that worked. I was happy as a kid could be, until I got a bit older and realized I wasn't quite like the rest of the people in my dad's circle of friends…and I was expected to take over.

I didn't realize until I was on the brink of being a teenager, that my Father was as old-fashioned, snobbish and, in a way, prudish as a person could be. He wasn't very happy with me when I came home from my first arranged "date" and told him I'd rather jump off the roof of the Empire State Building then go out with her and have her try to kiss me again. He put it down to me not having grown out of my "girls have cooties" stage, dumb ass.

The structure of the society my Father forced me into began to chafe. I went to all the "right" schools, knew all the "right" people and attended all the "right" events. I've lost count of how many Worthington social activities I was forced to attend. That was another disappointment to my Father, the fact that the Worthington brat and myself didn't become instant best friends and run off to plot what stocks we'd invest in when we were older. Truth is…. I couldn't stand the little snob, I put on a good show for Father's sake…. but I hated the times when I was expected to "play" with him. I was almost two years older then him…. and he still treated me like an inferior. Heh, boy was he confused, I was higher on the scale then he was, at least my father was above his.

I was fourteen when I finally stopped attending the events, I found what I decided was a better way to spend my time; though Father assured me I was wasting it. I got pretty heavily into cars and finally, with more then a little help from my mom, I convinced my dad to pay for me to enter the local sanctioned street racing ring. I could have paid for it on my own, god knows my allowance allowed for it, at least with my having saved pretty much all of it for the past 14 years it did, but I saw no reason for it. I'd spent years indulging him and doing what he wanted me to, I figured it was time he gave me the same courtesy. I'm sure Warren loved when I seemed to simply disappear, it meant he had no competition in becoming the "golden boy" that everyone wanted to be. I didn't care, he could have the spotlight…I just wanted to have some fun, and live a little before father managed to lasso me into the business.

Racing quickly went from a hobby…to an obsession. Sitting behind the wheel, tearing around the track, I was freer then I'd ever been in my family. I was in charge of my life, I literally held my life in my hands; one wrong move, one nervous jerk of the hand, and I could have gone spiraling into a concrete wall, making my car explode and killing myself in a fiery inferno of death… I loved knowing that, I loved the risk… I loved the adrenaline rush. I think it was my refusing to let anyone else work on my cars that made Father stop funding my "idiotic hobby"…he said he refused to fund my turning myself into a lowly mechanic when I could have rocket scientists work on the car and make it run like no other car on the road. I told him I could do it my self, and once his back was turned muttered under my breath exactly where I thought he could stick his opinions before I got back to work on my latest upgrade.

It wasn't until the night of my junior prom that I finally figured out what exactly it was that set me apart from the rest of the "elite" the people my father constantly told me were my "peers". I'd gone on dates to appease Father, I'd kissed girls, but I never did it because I'd decided I liked them, I did it because Father had set us up and it was expected, and they always initiated anything that happened, not me. I didn't have many, if any, friends in the snob school that I was forced to attend, and definitely not any I was close enough with to talk about dating, so how was I supposed to know that my approach to dating wasn't normal. I had plenty of girls that, especially once they found out that the number on my various cars wasn't just for show but actually my registered race number, were trying entirely too hard to get me to ask them out. I swear at least one of them had to have gotten an ulcer from the effort. But they shouldn't have wasted their time, I wasn't into any of them, I wasn't into any girl. Of course I didn't figure out until prom night that I was most definitely into guys, but that's not the point. I'd known for years that I wasn't into girls…I just didn't see any other alternative until that night.

I didn't even go to the prom, I spent the night at the racetrack, in my tux since Father had insisted I buy a ticket and go to the dance, I just never made it that far. The person that finally managed to catch my attention was one of the three other guys I was racing, and I damn near walked away from the race when I realized what was going on. "Gay" had always been akin swear words at my house. We didn't say it and we didn't associate with people who were gay, at least not if it was known to us that they were. Like I said, my dad was an old fashioned, snobbish prude, I could just imagine his reaction when I went home and explained this one to him. It was that thought that kept me at the tracks until dawn; I was reluctant to go home, pure and simple. I wanted to put off facing my father. Finally I said, "screw it" and drove home, speeding the entire way. Now that I'd decided to do it, I wanted it over with and actually I found I couldn't wait to see the look on his face.

I had expected him to bellow, to rant, to rave, and to tell me that I was no longer welcome in his home. Instead he laughed, laughed so hard that tears streamed from his eyes. He thought it was a great joke, that I had only said it to screw with his mind and then he went back to his paper. No doubt he thought the reason I'd been out all night was that I'd been with some girl, and my disheveled appearance certainly didn't help to argue with the opinion. I'd loosened my tie and unbuttoned my coat as soon as I'd gotten to the race and had raced my convertible with the top down. There I was, trying to tell him I'd just discovered that I was gay and the family name was going to end with me…and I looked like I'd just gotten in from a major shag session. Great…he'd believe me no problem, right…that's exactly what happened…and if you believe that I've got some ocean front property in Arizona that you can have.

I still hadn't convinced him by the time I graduated, Oh he'd started to take me seriously, but he decided that it was just a phase I'd grow out of. I say again, dumb ass. But he humored me again and paid for me to major in journalism in college, so long as I minored in Business. After all I was still expected to take over the business when he retired…he certainly couldn't leave it to Trixie, she'd be pretty hard pressed to run a business from the insane asylum. So I went off to college, where Father paid my tuition and book fees, but I was expected to pay room, board, and entertainment...my racing took care of that. So long as I won I had plenty of money to bolster my bank account, of course my account probably would have gotten me through, but once again…that isn't the point. I learned pretty quickly that Yale was going to be no more accepting of me then my father would have been had he actually acknowledged what I was trying to tell him. Needless to say I didn't have any more friends in College then I did in high school…but I managed to come out of it in the top three percent of my class. So who gives a shit if I didn't have many friends, and no relationships? Well none with guys that were in school with me, but the guys from the tracks were more interesting anyway.

I haven't seen or spoken to my father since the day I went home for my graduation party after I got my masters in journalism. I'm not sure why it surprised me when I showed up and Mom told me to go up to my room and get changed and that my Father wanted to speak to me before the guests arrived. Of course Father had made it a formal party with all his friends, after all I didn't have any of my own. I changed into a suit, and met him in his study. He smiled and said he was glad to see I'd finally grown out of my delusions. My jaw practically dropped as I told him in return that I'd been thinking how nice it was that he'd over come his prejudice and decided that people that didn't fit his ideal were still human. I walked out of the room, and didn't stop walking until I reached my car. I didn't even bother to stay for the "party".


	2. New Jobs and Odd Friends

2. New Jobs and Odd Friends

I guess walking out on a family that could have easily paid for any and every thing I ever wanted wasn't the brightest decision, but truth be told I had wanted to do just that for years, being gay just gave me a reason that my father at least wouldn't fight. I try not to think about how upset my mom was when I walked out… I don't have anything against her, but I can't stand my father and it just seemed easier to hurt her by walking out then to make her watch us fight all the time. It really doesn't matter how stupid anyone thinks it was, I did it and I'm happier now then I've ever been before, but there I go getting off track again. You'd think a guy that got a master's in journalism would have learned, then again I never did take most lessons to heart until I had to learn first hand.

I left home and didn't look back. I took a job at the Daily Bugle, stayed there for a few years until I got it in my head that news should be the truth, not something to feed the masses. I started writing positive stories about Spidey, The X-Men, and the rest of the super heroes… Jameson fired me practically on the spot…none of the articles ever got published. I ended up working for the only kind of paper that would print what I had to say…tabloids. You'd be amazed how much of what's written in the National Inquirer is actually true but the "real news" plays it down because it's not what most people want to hear. No one wanted to hear that a group of mutant's was doing more to keep them safe then the local police…they wanted to hear about whenever a mutant's powers got out of hand and they ended up causing major havoc.

But it meant I could do pretty much any story I wanted…and with my degree the paper was glad to have me. I never had to pay for any of the expenses when I was on the job, no matter how far out the job seemed. I haven't written a false work in my entire career as a journalist…hard to believe I know. All reporters are supposed to be evil, lying, scheming sacks of pond scum covered shit, but I never did like conforming to what people expected of me. If someone I was interviewing said that they didn't want something they had said in the interview in the article…then it didn't go in the article. I gave readers the truth without invading the privacy of others any more then they gave me permission to…But DAMN there were a few times I wanted to.

I'd only been at the Inquirer for a little over a year when I decided I needed something to print other then super hero stories. So I started hunting so called Urban Legends. I'm not talking about things like crocodiles in the sewer, but things like local myths. I just put at the end of every article that if someone had something they could give adequate information on, to send it to me and I'd see what I could do. Most of what I got was complete bullshit, but I'd get something solid once in a while, and I'd follow through and see what I could find about it, and fill the space in between with the expected hero blurbs.

I hit it big when I got a call about someone called "heart of the flame". The guy that left the tip only gave his first name, Brian, but it sounded cool, if slightly wishy-washy. So I checked it out, not really expecting to find anything. Supposedly Heart of The Flame was a racer in the illegal street-racing ring, a girl, and she had shown up all over the globe. Brian didn't say how he knew it, but I figured I'd check it out for my own curiosity, and started keeping my ear to the ground. When I started getting reports from across the country about a "ghost racer" that seemed to only frequent high stakes races I decided I try to track them down. It wasn't easy, there was no face to go with the stories, just a car…and copycats had started to spring up all over, it wasn't hard to model a car after one you'd seen.

It took me over six months to try to track her down, There was no pattern, she just appeared sporadically and by the time I knew she'd been at a race the race was over and she was long gone. The only reason I finally caught her was a cryptic message left on my machine at the office, I recognized the voice as Brian's, giving me a street address in Germany. Being the obsessive idiot I am I followed the tip, and have never regretted it. I wasn't disappointed when I saw her race, and as soon as it was over I figured out why there was no face to go with the reports…she raced wearing a full helmet that was tinted so darkly there was no hope of seeing her face. It was a wonder she could see through the thing at all seeing as she raced mainly at night. The only reason I could tell she was female was that suit she wore was full body, skin-tight black leather that zipped up and left very little to the imagination, she may as well have worn a coating of paint.

I worked my way to the front of the crowed that had gathered, babbling in German, around her car at the end of the race…It wasn't an easy task. I had no way to tell, but I got the feeling that through her visor she met my eyes. Looking back I can't believe I used the typical reporter question of, "Can I get a few words?" I could hear the smirk in her voice when she responded with, "Can you catch me?" I'm still not sure if she didn't know what she was getting into…or if I didn't.

"Ready set go." She said with a laugh I'm sure would have wrapped most guys around her little finger and thrown them off for at least a few seconds. To bad for her I wasn't interested, so was ready to dash back to my car and start the engine. I wasn't surprised to find the way clear. She'd said the last in German. It had been a few years since I'd raced, but it's not something you forget or loose the hang of. I didn't bite back my laugh as I pushed the accelerator to the floorboard and took off after her; she'd had a bit of a head start…she'd been right by her car.

She ran me around in circles…and I found myself wondering what the hell she'd done to that car so that even with my own racer I never managed to catch up. I resigned myself to hoping she'd run out of gas, after all…I had a full tank and she'd just run three circuits of a street race. I was more then a little surprised when she suddenly turned down a street that was clearly marked as "No outlet" but I didn't complain. I fishtailed the car and stopped in front of the exit, effectively blocking her in. I couldn't suppress a grin as I got out of the car and went to lean on the hood. "Let me guess," I said exaggeratedly, "That doesn't count."

She surprised me by pulling off her helmet, shaking out her long baby blue hair, and smiling brightly at me. "It counts, I made a stupid mistake, but you still caught me. So…what do you want to know, but if you put a picture of me in your article I will personally hunt you down and strangle you in your sleep." Her laughter made it where I wasn't sure if she was joking or not. Even I had to admit she looked good, she looked like a sculpture come to life. We did lunch; well technically a midnight snack, and I got my story. No picture, and the only way she'd give me a name was if I swore not to put it in the story. Like I said, I've never put something in a story that I was told not to by the person I interviewed. So Damia's story was published with me calling her the same thing everyone else at the tracks did, Heat of The Flame.

I'm still not sure how Damia and I ended up becoming friends; I never got more than her cell number, and when I looked that one up there was no record of it. She may as well have been the ghost the street racers had named her. Somehow along the way she became one of the most reliable resources I had. I have no clue how she did it, She still hasn't told me how she got her information, but her tips never left me dry. We met for lunch, or dinner, or anything she'd set up and she'd give me a new story to follow. Sometimes they weren't things where I could meet the actual person, but still had enough that I could get the truth out without an in-person interview. I'm still not sure if she was a godsend…or a cruel joke bordering on curse that the Powers That Be inflicted on me just for the hell of it.


	3. Unexpected Developments

3. Unexpected Developments

I guess you could say that my life didn't start with the BIG twist and unexpected turns until Damia came into it. She sent me on more bizarre stories than I'd ever accepted from anyone else, and I almost didn't go the first time. But something in her face told me she wouldn't lie unless it was absolutely necessary…so I found myself running after things involving magic, demons, and various other paranormal things. Then again she also led me to the story that made all the newspapers want me to come work for them…when you're the only one that a quickly climbing rising star will talk to, the perks just pile up. I was the one that published the story letting the world know that the heart of the flame had finally gone out, that she'd given up racing, almost entirely, for family life, but she still wouldn't give me an address to get a hold of her at.

But the biggest turn she ever made my life take was when I randomly got a call one day telling me to meet her for lunch the next day. I had no clue how I was supposed to get there from where I was with such short notice, so I decided that going 120 on the freeway wasn't such a bad Idea…I was still over an hour late. At least I knew what I was getting into, which was more then I could say about the poor sap she'd decided I had to meet. I really shouldn't talk about him like that…but it was my thought at the time. It amused me to no end that she'd decided to play match maker for one of her friends, but why she choose me I have no clue…maybe I was just the only other gay guy she knew…who knows, she certainly isn't telling. I parked a few blocks away, like she'd asked me to, and strolled casually by the out door café that she had told me to meet her at.

I got a look at the guy she wanted me to meet as I got nearer to the café. Suddenly I wasn't quite as annoyed that she'd called me out of the blue and practically demanded that I meet her and her friend. His blue/purple sunglasses were pushed into his purplish/gray hair and his blue eyes danced as he laughed at a joke I couldn't hear as far away as I was. I decided the day could be interesting after all. I did exactly what Damia had told me I was supposed to, strolled by and acted surprised to see her, graciously accepting her invitation to join them for lunch, even though it was obvious that they were both nearly done. I was introduced to Jean-Paul, and it didn't surprise me when Damia managed to fade naturally out of the conversation. We got into more then a few debates, mostly with him grilling me on my stories about the X-Men, at least after he found out that was a large part of what I wrote.

You can imagine my surprise when I found out who he was…leave it to Damia to leave that bit out. Heh, she always was good at keeping her peace about what she knew about others that wasn't supposed to be public knowledge. We spent the better part of the afternoon bantering back and forth, more playfully then I normally would have if someone was questioning my work. When the café owner asked us to leave I started to say good-bye, until he said I wasn't getting out of the conversation that easily, and asked if I'd mind giving him a ride home, since Damia seemed to have left him stranded. Right, like he needed it, he could have gotten back to his house a hell of a lot faster if I hadn't given him a ride.

Our debates continued through the drive back, a rather long drive, and without thinking I got out when we stopped and went inside with him, still lost in the conversation. It wasn't until he smirked and asked me if I wanted a job that I looked around. We had an audience. "JP you ass!" I knew that voice, I knew that voice all too well, "I spend years telling him that he's not allowed to know where I live, and you bring him home like he's a lost puppy!"

I turned and smirked, "Hello Damia. Knew I'd find you eventually." I couldn't resist teasing her, but almost regretted it a moment latter when a guy stepped up beside her, I didn't have to know him to know that the glow in his red on black eyes couldn't be good.

"Knock it off Remy." Damia said exasperatedly as she picked up a little boy begging for attention, "It's my own fault…" She trailed off, not wanting to let on that she'd set Jean-Paul up. I smirked again.

"What's this about a job?" I asked as Damia's eyes went wide.

It was Jean-Paul's turn to smirk, "You write such good things about us," He moved faster then I could blink and was suddenly behind me, "I figured maybe you'd take the job as being in charge of our PR."

My jaw dropped, I was in the home and, I assumed, base of operations of the X-Men. I'd spent the last few hours flirting with Northstar…the realization nearly knocked me on my ass. It was the last thing I would have ever expected. My eyes flew back to Damia unable to believe she lived there. I seemed impossible, she'd been my best contact for years, and had become a pretty good friend, one of the best I'd ever had…and she'd never mentioned it. I went through what I knew about the X-Men and mentally face-palmed. Why hadn't I put it together sooner? She'd given me a description of the guy she'd married, I hadn't put it in the article but she'd told me. I should have put two and two together and realized that she'd just described Gambit of the X-Men, but she'd referred to him as Remy…so I hadn't connected the dots.

"Damia…I don't know whether to strangle you or kiss you." I said with a laugh. Playing public relations official wasn't exactly what I'd gone to school for, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Her musical laughter filled the entryway, "If you kissed me I'd have to doubt you are who you say you are…and if you try to strangle me I'm sure that Remy would love the excuse to throw something nice and explosive at you." She turned and walked away.

"Why would she doubt your identity if you kissed her?" I wasn't sure whom in the crowd had asked, but I laughed and shrugged.

"She's not my type and knows it." I didn't go any farther then that, I wasn't sure how it would be taken if I did. Hell the only reason I knew Jean-Paul was gay was I'd assumed it when Damia said she had a friend she wanted me to meet. She knew I was gay, so I'd automatically assumed that she was playing matchmaker…maybe I'd been wrong. Something in the way he looked at me when I said that Damia wasn't my type made me sure I hadn't been wrong. I could practically see his thoughts, no straight guy would say she wasn't his type, not if they thought she'd give them the time of day, she was too good a catch to pass up.

I went home that night and practically collapsed, the day's events whirling in my head. I had to call the paper in the morning…they'd rant to hear that I was quitting, but they'd have to deal, I wasn't going to turn away from this job. A small smile played on my lips. I had to admit, JP had played a BIG part in taking it. I wanted a chance to see where things would go. We'd gotten along well…VERY well. It was almost scary. But I liked his company, hell, I'd almost be happy just to have him as a friend…. almost. I wasn't going to kid myself I definitely wanted more than friendship, my grin grew. I didn't see how he couldn't have gotten the hints in my conversation with Damia before I left. I'd all but announced my sexual preference… he couldn't be that dense…could he?

It took two weeks before I got the answer to that question. I got home from clearing out my office at the paper, I'd already been to the mansion and it was time to grab a bite to eat and hit my web page, see what people were saying that I could refute or confirm about the X-Men. I threw my keys on the table just inside the door to my studio apartment and flipped on the light so I could go through my mail. Yeah, I know…why the hell was I living in a studio apartment…why the hell not? I dumped all the mail in the trash, and had my coat on the floor and my shirt half way off before I noticed that someone was sitting on my bed.

Jean-Paul smirked and quirked an eyebrow at me, "Why do you keep coming back here?" he asked.

I leaned casually against the wall once I'd finished taking off my shirt, and faced him with just my pants, shoes and the bandana I wore over my hair on, "It's where I live." I said simply, "I won't go so far as to call it home, but it's where I crash at night."

He rolled his eyes at me as he lay down on my bed, "That's not what I meant Kyle, I know Scott's offered more than once to give you a room at the mansion. Why not take him up on the offer?"

I smirked and turned the tables, "Why do you care if I make the drive back to the city every night?" I resisted the urge to hold my breath as I waited for an answer; it was hit or miss time…and god I didn't want to miss.

He sat up and looked me in the eyes, "Maybe I don't like you being so far away." He shrugged, "Then again maybe I'm just worried once you start actively acting as our PR you might be in more trouble out here than living where I…we all can keep an eye on you."

I bit back my grin and went to collapse next to him on the bed, "You saying you want me around?" The glare he shot me told me he wasn't going to be any more up front than he had already been, and I laughed as I flipped the switch by the head of the bed and turned off the light.


End file.
